


The Way Out Is Through

by QueensChalice



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Battle of the Department of Mysteries, Department of Mysteries, Flashbacks, Gen, Godfather Sirius Black, Introspection, Marauders, Marauders Friendship, Order of the Phoenix AU, Other, References to Norse Religion & Lore, References to Whedonverse, Saving Sirius, Sirius Black Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 22:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10603770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueensChalice/pseuds/QueensChalice
Summary: 18 June 1996: After falling through the Veil, Sirius Black embarks on a bizarre little jaunt through the underworld. Death is a complicated thing, and the Powers That Be make Dumbledore look like an amateur when it comes to meddling in the lives of mortals.“No appointment?” the woman says in confusion, flipping through the pages of her scheduling book. “That can’t be right. You must have an appointment. Why else would you be here?”“Well,” he scratches his chin, “it wasn’t really planned..." He shrugs.Part of the 'Saving Sirius' series. One-shot. AU Order of the Phoenix.





	

_Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership over the universe of Harry Potter or the characters within it. This is a work of fanfiction and I am making no profit from it._

_About this story: This is part of the ‘Saving Sirius’ series, a collection of otherwise unrelated one-shots in which each of the stories explores a different ‘what if?’ in the life of Sirius Black. They each begin established in canon, but diverge into an alternate universe that is kinder to Sirius’s fate. These stories are intentionally left somewhat open-ended, as the purpose of each piece is to serve as a jumping-off point for either future stories, or simply for the imagination of the reader._

xXx

_18 June 1996_

One minute, Sirius Black is dueling with Death Eaters at his godson’s side in the Department of Mysteries, and the next, he is standing alone in what appears to be the lobby of a posh Muggle corporate office building. Sunlight streams through huge plate-glass windows, illuminating amorphous modern art sculptures and reflecting off of ripples in a koi pond that is set in the center of the tiled floor.

What. _The fuck_.

He doesn’t bother with attempting Apparition, or even with something as simple as searching for a door; somehow he instinctively knows that these efforts would be pointless in this place. Instead, he glances around in hopes of finding a hint as to what he is supposed do next.

The only other person in sight is a woman who is seated behind a sprawling desk along the far wall -- the equivalent of a welcome witch, he assumes -- and he makes his way toward her. She has long blonde hair and a pretty face, and is speaking rapidly into what he recognizes as a telephone.

“Oh my god, shut up! You didn’t! Well, he had it coming anyway-- I can’t believe he even tried passing that suit off as designer. I mean, hel-lo? It wasn’t even tailored properly! It looked like it was fitted by someone who was blind. And _poor_ ,” she cackles into the receiver with malicious glee.

Sirius has been waiting quietly for the woman to acknowledge him, but she seems to be pointedly ignoring his presence. He clears his throat and tries, “Excuse me--”

She cuts him off by holding up a single manicured finger and shooting him a withering glare. “Ugh, sorry Aura, can we finish this later? There’s this guy standing here all, like, _impatient_ or whatever… Sure, I’ll call you back when I’ve gotten rid of him.” Laughing again, she says, “Yeah, okay, talk to you later.” The blonde carefully sets the phone back into its cradle and then takes a long, deliberate sip from the straw that pokes out of her plastic, rhinestone-encrusted travel cup. Adjusting in her seat and smoothing down the lapels of her baby pink blazer, she finally looks him in the face. “Well. Can I _help_ you?” she asks, her voice dripping with irritation and disdain.

He flashes a jaw-cracking smile at her; it’s the one that he knows makes him look both winningly handsome and impossibly arrogant. It’s never failed him before, and he’s hoping it will come through for him now. “I sure hope so,” his eyes slide to the nameplate that’s displayed on the desk, “ _Ms. Kendall_.” He says her name like he’s tasting some kind of decadent dessert, letting it roll over his tongue and caress across his lips.

Her demeanor instantly shifts. Suddenly, she’s wearing a pouty little grin and leaning forward just enough to let her cleavage peek out of the top of her lacy camisole. “Of course, let’s just see if I can find your appointment in the book, Mister…?” she prompts, tapping the end of her ballpoint pen against her lips.

“Black. Sirius Black,” he responds. “But I doubt you’ll find me in your book. I don’t exactly have an appointment, you see.”

“No appointment?” the woman says in confusion, flipping through the pages of her scheduling book. “That can’t be right. You _must_ have an appointment. Why else would you be here?”

“Well,” he scratches his chin, “it wasn’t really planned. There was this stone archway, it sat on a platform, and hanging from it was a curtain… A sort of veil, I guess you could call it. I got hit with a-- well, I got knocked through the aforementioned curtain, and then I found myself here. So no appointment, but _poof_ , here I am anyway.” He shrugs.

“Oh,” she blinks at him. “You came through the Veil? And it was an _accident_? Huh. Didn’t know _that_ could happen.” She looks around at her desk for a moment, apparently caught off-guard by the circumstances of his arrival. “I guess you’ll be needing to talk to the boss-man, but it can be hard to get in without an appointment.”

Turning up the charm a little, he says with a wink, “I’d be grateful for whatever help you can give me.” He’s not sure why it’s important for him to talk to this ‘boss-man’, but it sounds like a better plan than shuffling around in the lobby for who knows how long, waiting for _something_ to happen.

Returning his smile, Ms. Kendall says, “I’ll see what I can do.” She picks up the telephone receiver again and hits a button. “Hey bossy,” she says a few seconds later. “There’s a man in here to see you, but he doesn’t have an appointment.” She listens for a moment. “Sirius Black, he said?” Another pause. “Yeah, he came through the Veil on accident, I guess.” Pause, and then a giggle. “I know, weird, right? Okay, I’ll send him on through. Thanks!”

“That sounded promising,” says Sirius.

“It is!” she exclaims, handing him a clipboard along with a little plastic ‘Visitor’ badge for him to attach to his shirt. “So just go ahead and sign in,” she watches as he scrawls his name on the form, “And then your payment, of course. You can just drop it in here.” She points at a small golden box with a slot in the top.

“Payment?”

“Yeah, payment,” she says with an eye roll. “Duh, that’s how business works. If _you_ don’t pay, then _I_ don’t get paid, and I _don’t_ work for free.”

“Right, of course.” Sirius gropes around in his pockets for a moment, and manages to extract a Galleon and seven Knuts. He pushes the coins into the slot on the golden box, and though he expects to hear a ‘clink’ when they hit the bottom, they make no sound.

Ms. Kendall perks back up. “Great! Now right this way please, if you would follow me?”

She steps out from behind her desk, making sure he gets a good view of her swaying derriere -- it’s firmly encased in a knee-length pencil skirt that matches her pink blazer -- as she leads him to the elevator. He chuckles lightly to himself, thinking that twenty years ago, he probably would have taken the opportunity to bend her over her desk and take what she was so obviously offering, though now, while he is flattered to have the attentions of an attractive young woman, he is simply uninterested. It’s more important to him that he sort out this whole mess, and the sooner the better, so he can get back to Harry.

“Well, here we are!” she announces cheerfully, pressing a little glowing button on the wall. “It’s been a _pleasure_ , Mr. Black.”

“No, darling, the pleasure is all mine.” And really, it is. While shagging the woman is the last thing on his mind, he honestly has enjoyed the flirting. It’s been entirely too long since he’s interacted with a female who isn’t too old, too young, married, or related to him, and it’s nice to know that he can still turn on the charm if he sets his mind to it.

The elevator dings its arrival, and Sirius says, “And I’m really grateful that your boss agreed to see me right away. I’m sure he’s a busy man.”

At this, a tiny crease appears in the woman’s brow. “Yeah, about that… I should probably warn you that time moves differently in the elevator.”

“What does that mean?” he asks suspiciously.

She frowns, apparently trying to decide how to explain. “Well, it’s moving you through time and space, right? Except it’s, like, _not_ at the same time. So even though you’re going directly to the boss’s office, you’re not _really_ just going straight there. Does that make sense?” The elevator doors whoosh open and she ushers him aboard.

“What? No, that doesn’t make sense at all!” he protests, starting to feel apprehensive about this whole thing. Maybe he should have put more thought into this plan, instead of just jumping in blindly. Wasn’t rushing headlong into ill-constructed plans what got him into this situation in the first place?

“Oh. Well, you’ll figure it out soon enough, I guess. Bye, Mr. Black!” She waggles her fingers at him in farewell, punctuating her wave with a coquettish giggle as the elevator doors slide shut on her.

Ms. Kendall’s warning is inadequate… To say the least.

Sirius isn’t sure how long he is on the elevator. It might be minutes, or it might be years. In that, it reminds him of Azkaban, though the elevator is infinitely less miserable. The upside is that he is not cold, or hungry, or marinating in his own filth. He’s not really anything at all, actually.

In its own way, the elevator is soothing. It’s not dark, or even light, for that matter. The elevator’s not really anything at all either. He begins to understand what the blonde meant about moving through time and space, and _not_ at the same time, though he has no idea how to articulate such a thing.

Not that there’s anyone around to whom he might articulate it.

He isn’t all that surprised when memories of his life begin replaying themselves before his eyes; it’s much like viewing his past through a Pensieve, though there’s almost a cinematic quality to it that reminds him of the films he used to occasionally watch with Lily on her television in Godric’s Hollow.

It starts with his childhood. An impeccably dressed little boy sits rigidly on a couch in the drawing room of the townhouse at Grimmauld Place, while a young and somewhat attractive Walburga Black waxes poetic about the virtues of a pure-blooded pedigree in wizarding society. The boy nods at all the appropriate intervals, but even if it weren’t a younger version of himself, Sirius would be still able to tell that the child is only feigning interest as he listens to his mother discuss acceptable traits in a potential match -- after all, as the heir to the most Noble and Ancient House of Black, the responsibility falls to him to make wise decisions regarding the continuation of the bloodline.

Now that he is confronted with the memory, Sirius recalls that this is the first time that he actively questioned his upbringing. He’d always had the sense that something about his family just didn’t quite sit right with him, but this was the first moment that he’d fully understood that he didn’t belong. That he was _other_.

The little boy on the couch was thinking that he didn’t want to marry some awful girl that he didn’t even like, just to fulfill some lousy familial expectations. He had found a book in the library that told the tale of a young wizard who had set out into the world in search of his destiny. The many adventures that the hero encountered had thrilled the boy, but nothing transfixed him as did the part where the wizard met a beautiful young witch who, though disguised as a simple barmaid, was in fact a princess from a far away land. Naturally, the hero and his new heroine disliked one another immensely but their destinies seemed intertwined; they were forced to fight together, side by side, until one day, they found that they had fallen in love with each other.

Sirius smiles wistfully at the sight of the little boy who holds such idealistic and romantic notions of love. Over the course of his imprisonment first in Azkaban, and then in this same childhood home, he has all but forgotten what it feels like to long for a woman whom he can love, and who will love him in return.

He allows himself to revel in the long-forgotten feeling, and, as the scene before him begins to fade, he makes the impulsive decision to keep it. His foolish desires for love were his once before, and they are now his once again.

The next scene is one that is very familiar. It has repeated itself numerous times over the years, and in fact, played out most recently only a few short days ago. A teenaged version of Sirius lays in a sprawl across his bed at Grimmauld Place, tapping his fingers against his chest to the beat of the Rolling Stones album that plays on his record player. He is barefoot and wearing a black long-sleeved shirt and a pair of those Muggle denim trousers that his mother hates just as much as the girls down at the record shop love them. The wall above his bed is plastered with brand-new glossy unmoving photographs of scantily clad women salaciously perched upon motorcycles, and he has no problem admitting now that though he did (and still does) appreciate the content of said photographs, posting them was more about asserting his rebellion against his parents than anything else.

And how effective that rebellion turned out to be. Only a strong Silencing charm -- restriction on underage magic be damned -- is keeping his mother’s screeching voice from interrupting the bluesy rhythms of _Let It Bleed_ , but as it stands, that’s all he can hear, and he is happy in that particular moment. In only a week’s time, he will pack his trunk and set off to the Potters’ house, finally parting ways with his family for good.

Unseen by the younger version of himself, Sirius closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in the music for a few minutes, until he notices the sounds beginning to gradually fade away. He opens his eyes to the next scene, and instantly cringes.

His younger counterpart is still a teenager, but this time he sits on his bed in his Gryffindor tower dormitory, a look of forced boredom and defiance on his face as his best friend screams at him.

“What the fuck were you thinking? I mean, he could have died, _Sirius_!” James yells as he paces the room.

“Yeah, well he didn’t,” teenage Sirius replies indifferently. “I don’t get why you’re so bent over this anyway, this is _Snivellus_ we’re talking about here.”

James groans in frustration, raking a hand through his perpetually mussed hair. “Just because I hate the git doesn’t mean I want him dead! And to put Remus in that situation? He _is_ your friend, and you’d let him do harm to another person, all for what? Some idiotic prank? Honestly, I don’t understand how someone as smart as you can be so bloody _stupid_ sometimes.”

Teenage Sirius just shrugs gracefully, effectively ending the conversation. James has said his part, and he won’t push it beyond that. It’s one of those things that makes their friendship so effortless -- the ability to just let things go -- but as Sirius watches the events unfold between his younger self and his best friend, he suddenly finds himself wishing that James _had_ pressed the subject.

He has always been stubborn, sometimes to the point of his own detriment, and his prolonged denial of the error of his actions is like a latent illness that he has been carrying within for decades now. For the first time in his life, he admits to himself that sending Snape into the Shrieking Shack that night was fucked-up and wrong. Worse than that, his absolute refusal to accept accountability for his actions was both immature and disappointing, something that even James understood. A sick-feeling knot settles itself into his gut, and it takes him a moment to identify the sensation as remorse.

He makes the conscious decision to keep that feeling too, tucking it away deep inside of him along with his recently rediscovered yearning for love. His heart begins to feel heavy as this bizarre little jaunt down memory lane continues on.

Next up he finds himself, a few years older now, gripping the armrests of his chair tightly as he sits in the waiting room in the midwifery ward at St. Mungo’s. Marlene McKinnon sits next to him, and she gently places her hand on his. Her touch is soothing, and he smiles at her gratefully. Though she is Remus’ girl, he cares for her, and she cares for him, and he is beginning to love her in the same way that he loves Lily.

Sirius recognizes the look on his younger self’s face, and knows that, though he would never in a million years admit it out loud, he is wondering if he will ever find a woman like that for himself.

“I’m a father!” James shouts, practically tripping over his own feet in excitement as he bursts into the waiting room. “I have a son and he’s perfect!”

Young Sirius springs to his feet, as does Marlene beside him. “Of course he’s perfect,” he exclaims, throwing his arms around his friend. “After all, _Lily_ did make him.”

James hugs young Sirius for a long moment, then turns to embrace Marlene as well. “You guys have to come meet baby Harry! Where are Remus and Peter?” he asks, looking around the otherwise empty waiting room.

“On the way,” responds Marlene. “Peter went to get Remus, but they should be here any minute now.”

“Well, come on!” James insists, gesturing to the hallway. “They’ll catch up.” He ushers them down the hall to Lily’s hospital room. She is laying in her bed, looking exhausted but absolutely ecstatic, cradling a tiny, writhing bundle in her arms.

“Oh, I’m so glad you two are here!” Lily says hoarsely, and James rushes to fetch her a glass of water. She takes a sip and then continues, “We have something important to ask you.”

“Of course, Lily, anything,” young Sirius replies instantly, moving forward to stand by the side of her bed. He leans over to peer at the infant in her arms, and Lily holds the child out to him. He takes the baby and holds him to his chest, staring down into the little face. James is right; baby Harry is perfect.

Marlene steps up beside him and coos softly at the baby. “He’s beautiful, Lily,” she breathes.

Lily beams up at her friends, and then glances at James, who clears his throat. “So, we were wondering…” he says, as young Sirius and Marlene both focus their attention on him. “Well, little Harry here is in need of some godparents, you see…”

“Oh, just spit it out, James!” says Lily, rolling her eyes.

“Sirius,” says James somberly, “Would you do us the honor of being Harry’s godfather?”

Though it’s only a memory, and none of this comes as a surprise to him, Sirius finds himself getting choked up right alongside his younger counterpart. “I… Oh, wow… Yes, of course, I’d love to be his godfather!” young Sirius finally stammers, looking first from James to Lily, and then back down to the baby in his arms.

“Very good!” James claps his friend on the back, then turns to Marlene. “Now we know that tradition often dictates that the godparents of a child are a married couple, but since nobody will put up with Sirius long enough for him to settle down… Marlene, we would love it if you would consider being Harry’s godmother.”

“Oh my goodness… Wow… Really?” Marlene stammers just as young Sirius did before her.

Lily reaches out to grasp the other woman’s hand as she nods. “Yes, really,” she says with a smile. “Please say you will?”

Marlene nods and tries to casually brush away a tear that manages to escape down her cheek. “Yes, I’d be honored to be Harry’s godmother.” She meets young Sirius’s eye, and they grin at each other over the baby.

The memory begins to fade as Peter and Remus come tumbling, breathless, into the hospital room, eager to meet the newest and littlest Marauder.

It’s been a long time since Sirius has let himself think about Marlene. It’s nothing against her; it’s just that most of the memories that she’s in -- even this one, in its own bittersweet way -- are painful ones that he has kept locked up deep within the recesses of his mind since his escape from Azkaban. The Dementors forced him to relive every awful moment of his life enough times to never want to dwell on them ever again…

And yet, here he is.

Somehow, it isn’t as bad as he’d imagined it would be, probably because this time there isn’t the influence of Dark magic permeating every last detail of each memory. In fact, for the first time in over a decade, he is able to smile as he remembers Marlene McKinnon and the day that he became Harry’s godfather.

The smile doesn’t last long. The next memory that plays itself out before him takes place just a little over a week after Marlene and her entire family are personally murdered by Lord Voldemort.

The Potters’ house in Godric’s Hollow begins to materialize before him, and James is quickly wearing a trench into the kitchen floor as he paces the length of the room, from one end to the other and back, and it’s making both Siriuses dizzy. It’s shortly after Harry’s first birthday, and, as Sirius now knows, shortly before his entire world is about to fall apart.

“It’s just… I mean, I’ve known all along that we were in danger, but it never quite hit me until this, you know? Before, it was just this vague threat, but now that she’s--” James’s voice cracks at this. “Lily’s beside herself, and me, well I’m keeping it together, but it’s just so…”

Young Sirius sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Bloody fucking awful, is what it is. Marlene’s a-- _was_ a good girl. The world is less without her in it.”

“I can’t imagine what Remus is going through right now. I mean, if it were Lily…” James suppresses another sob. “I don’t know what I’d do,” he whispers, meeting his friend’s eyes.

“Shit,” says young Sirius, and he crosses the kitchen to wrap his arms around James in a bear hug. The two embrace each other for a long moment, finally stepping away to lean against the counter, reclaiming their forgotten bottles of beer and sipping in silence.

“You know what this means, right?” James says suddenly. “You’re all that Harry’s got now.”

“Don’t be stupid,” responds young Sirius. “He’s got you and Lily, doesn’t he?”

“Right now, he does. But if something were to _happen_ to us…” says James.

Shaking his head vehemently, young Sirius argues, “That’s ridiculous. You guys will be fine. We’ll get through this together, I know we will. You and Lily will go on to have five more little brats just like him, and we’ll all get old and fat together,” he insists.

“Sirius,” James says solemnly, an intense look on his face, “You’re all he’s got. You’re all _I’ve_ got. There’s nobody else that I can trust with this. People keep dying, You-Know-Who is looking for us, and there’s a traitor in the Order. Swear to me, please, that if anything happens, you’ll be there for Harry.”

“Okay,” young Sirius says softly, relenting. “I swear it.”

Sirius cringes as he hears his younger self make the promise because he knows that he will ultimately fail his best friend, and sooner rather than later.

The memory then transitions into the one that Sirius knows is coming next, and he tries not to watch, but bits of it trickle into his consciousness anyway. He sees himself finding his friends, dead, and his godson, alive. He hears Hagrid relay Dumbledore’s orders to take the child to Little Whinging, and he sees himself nodding slowly, offering up his motorcycle as transportation. And then he watches, tears blurring his vision, as he leaves Godric’s Hollow in pursuit of Peter, confronts the other man, and somehow gets himself landed in prison for the murders of his friends.

The scenes are rolling by in quick succession now, as if someone put the movie of his life on fast-forward. Days blur together, morphing into weeks, then months, then years. It’s all the same timeless horror, until one day, he receives a visitor.

He doesn’t remember exactly what Cornelius Fudge says to him, only that he is smarmy and condescending, and leaves a copy of the Daily Prophet behind on his way out. And in that newspaper is a photograph that changes everything.

Perched on the shoulder of one of the Weasley children is the rat bastard himself: Peter Pettigrew. Sirius would recognize him from a mile away in the dark, even without the missing toe. For the first time in over a decade, a light fills his eyes. He has a purpose now, and that purpose is to find Peter, and finish what he started all those years ago.

That purpose was all wrong, he realizes now, watching himself plan and execute the first ever escape from the wizarding prison, all in the name of vengeance. If only he’d decided to stay true to his promise to James in the first place, how differently might have things turned out for all of them?

Even as he watches himself watch Harry at Hogwarts, the love that he feels for his godson is tainted by the hatred that he has for Peter. His motives are all wrong; everything he does is a result of his own selfish desire -- his own obsession with taking revenge on the man who betrayed his best friend and stole his youth from him. He adores Harry of course, but none of this is _about_ Harry, even though he is the only person who should matter at all anymore.

A wave of shame crashes over him and floods every cell of his body. Even after all these years, he is still failing James… And worse than that, he’s failing Harry. What his fifteen-year-old godson needs more than anything in the world is for someone who loves him to step into a parental role -- to be a support system, a mentor, a protector -- and all that Sirius has managed to be to him is a friend.

And not even a very good friend apparently, if his current status of being lost in time and space in some god-forsaken elevator is any indication.

Sirius lets out a fierce growl, suddenly sick of this barrage of memories from the inadequate life that he has led so far. He vows to himself that he will find a way out of this metaphysical cage and back to Harry, and when he does, things will be different. Better. _He_ will be different and better. It’s the least that the young man deserves, The Boy Who Lived, but who has never truly _lived_. He will be the champion for his godson, an advocate for Harry against the evil that would happily see him destroyed, and against the righteous that would use him as a means to an end for the greater good.

He will be the godfather that he promised so long ago to be, and with him he will carry both remorse for his misdeeds, and the capacity to love and seek love in return.

The elevator slows to a stop.

Sirius has just enough time to straighten his posture and ready his wand -- though he’s not sure that it will even work here anyway -- before the doors slowly glide open, revealing a sprawling, stately executive office.

Closest to the elevator, a trio of black leather armchairs form a semicircle around a roughly-hewn stone fireplace. Beyond that, low bookcases, less than a meter tall, line the walls from the floor up to where the plate-glass windows begin. The view must be amazing, Sirius thinks, but only darkness is reflected back when he tries to catch a glimpse of what lays beyond. The ceiling is vaulted, and the exposed wooden beams manage to look sophisticated rather than rustic. At the far end of the room is a large and impressive-looking desk, and leaning against that desk is an equally large and impressive-looking man.

This must be the boss that he’s been sent to meet. Sirius slowly takes a step off the elevator, and the other man pushes off the desk and begins striding toward him, his footsteps echoing across the marble floor.

“Ah, Mr. Black,” the boss says grandly, “You’re early.”

Since he didn’t have an appointment in the first place, Sirius isn’t sure how he can possibly be _early_ , but he politely responds, “I apologize for that, but appreciate you taking the time to see me all the same.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” says the other man. He gestures to the chairs by the fireplace. “Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll see if we can get this all sorted out, hmm?”

Taking the proffered seat, Sirius tries to formulate what he wants to say, weighing his various options, before finally deciding to continue with the pleasantries. It’s gotten him this far, and besides, he is determined to not break his own personal vows so soon after making them by acting rashly. Carrying on in a civilized manner seems to be his best shot at keeping his cool.

“Forgive me,” says Sirius, “But I didn’t catch your name from Ms. Kendall when she sent me through. What do you go by?”

At this, the man glances down at himself in interest. An eye-patch covers one side of his face, and his remaining good eye seems to be examining his outfit in fascination, as if he’d been previously unaware of his wardrobe choice. He is wearing a well-tailored suit that vaguely resembles the uniform of a high-ranking military official, though not from any army that Sirius is familiar with.

“Hmm, the All-Father,” says the man speculatively. “It’s certainly been awhile since I’ve taken this form. These days, it’s the carpenter more often than not, though people always do manage to surprise me somehow.” He sounds appreciative of this fact. “I suppose you can call me Mr. Woden, if you please.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow at this, but nods, choosing not to comment. This journey just continues to get stranger and stranger.

“Would you care for a refreshment?” Mr. Woden asks, snapping his fingers. A tea set appears on the low table between their chairs, and he gives it a nod as if to say ‘ _help yourself_.’

After eyeing it skeptically for a moment, Sirius leans forward to tentatively fix himself a cup of tea. When the scent of double-bergamot earl grey -- his favorite -- wafts out of the teapot, he relaxes and leans back into his chair more comfortably, gratefully sipping the tea. “So, Mr. Woden, I’m trying to understand… You’re some sort of a god?” A horrible thought then occurs to him. “Wait, does this mean that I’m _dead_? Is this my judgment?”

Mr. Woden chuckles and says, “See, that’s what makes this whole predicament so interesting. For you to be here meeting with me does imply a certain lack of… _status_ amongst the living, and yet…”

“And yet?” Sirius prompts, unsure if he likes the direction that this conversation seems to be going.

“And yet here you sit, as full of vitality as the next mortal, and after having arrived by such unconventional means no less.” With his cryptic manner of speaking and the ever-present amused glint in his one good eye, Mr. Woden could probably give Albus Dumbledore a fair run for his money.

“So I’m _not_ dead.”

“No, Mr. Black, it appears not. As I said, you’re _early_.”

“Then you _are_ a god? The god?” Though well-read, he’s never been particularly religious, and he hopes that he’s not being offensive, but nothing he’s learned so far has made Sirius any less confused. “And this is my judgment?”

“I’m not a god so much as I am a manifestation of the Powers That Be; I’m more of a conduit to, or an extension thereof, if you will,” says Mr. Woden patiently. “And yes, I suppose you could call this your ‘judgment’, though as it’s in fact a bit premature, I will warn you that we’re not exactly following standard procedure right now. But you must know that already! After all, you were the one who broke with tradition by taking an unscheduled trip through the Veil. Quite the young maverick you are, Mr. Black.”

“I’m hardly that young,” replies Sirius wryly.

“Nonsense!” argues Mr. Woden. “You’ve currently only fulfilled a mere fraction of your mortal existence -- and besides, I’ve got you beat by a few millennia, give or take. I’d still consider you to be young.”

Well, that certainly puts things into perspective. Sirius clears his throat and then asks, “If I’m not dead, and I’m not supposed to be here yet, what happens next? Do I get to go back and finish my life?”

“Ah, and therein lies the problem,” says Mr. Woden solemnly, leaning back in his seat and steepling his fingers together. “Travel here only occurs in one direction, which makes it impossible to send you _back_.”

“So, what then? Am I just stuck here until I die?” Taking a deep breath, Sirius attempts to beat back the panic that’s threatening to rise in his chest.

“I didn’t say that,” responds Mr. Woden.

“Well, what _are_ you saying?” Sirius bites out in frustration.

“I’m saying that you can only go forward. The way out is _through_.”

“Then there is a way to return to my life, if I go the right direction?” asks Sirius.

“In a manner of speaking, yes, though I cannot guarantee that the life to which you return will be the same as the one you left behind.” Noticing the evident confusion on Sirius’s face, Mr. Woden continues, “We are in a different realm. Movement through time and space transpires differently here, and there is no way of knowing just exactly how much time will have passed in your dimension when you finally return to it, though you’ll notice that you will remain largely unchanged. Physically, anyway. I believe you underwent quite the emotional transformation on your elevator ride here?”

Mutely, Sirius nods.

“And it was, would you say, beneficial?” asks Mr. Woden in that infuriatingly casual Dumbledorian tone of voice.

“Indeed,” confirms Sirius.

“Now, do you think, Mr. Black,” the older man says conversationally, “that should you return to your life on the mortal plane, you will be inclined to repeat past mistakes?”

Shaking his head, Sirius says quietly but firmly, “No, I don’t.”

“How can you be sure of that?” Mr. Woden shifts subtly in his seat.

“I can’t,” Sirius sighs, raking a hand through his hair as he leans forward. “But I can tell you this: I want to be different. If I’m not dead, then I want to truly live my life. No more selfishly motivated rash decisions. It has to stop, because it hurts the people I love, and it hurts me. I can’t promise I won’t make more mistakes; in fact, I probably will. I’ll likely be fucking up royally for all eternity, if you give me the chance. But I am determined to at least make new mistakes every time, and to learn from them, because it’s time for me to grow up already. If one thing became shockingly clear to me in that crazy elevator of yours, it’s that this is my one life, and it’s up to me to shape it into something that I can be proud of.” With another deep sigh, he collapses back into his chair, letting it cradle his slack weight.

Mr. Woden slowly nods, a look of approval gracing his weathered features. “Then I think we’re done here.”

“We are?” Sirius repeats in bewilderment.

Giving one sharp nod, Mr. Woden stands and sweeps out his arm, gesturing at something behind Sirius, back toward the wall with the elevator. Sirius stands as well, and as he turns, he can’t help letting his jaw drop just a little. Even after a lifetime of magic, he is still caught off-guard by what he sees.

Instead of a plain cream-colored wall bisected by an elevator door, he is staring out at a craggy rock cavern. A dark, narrow river flows quietly through, and a small wooden boat is tethered to a utilitarian dock on the nearest bank.

A long moment passes as Sirius attempts to wrap his mind around this most recent bizarre turn of events. Mr. Woden’s amused voice finally cuts through the silence. “Anchors away, Mr. Black.”

Taking one last look at Mr. Woden, who just stares back with that same little nondescript grin that seems to be his trademark, Sirius takes the first tentative step toward the boat. Gathering his courage, he moves closer and closer, and finally stands on the dock beside it. He glances up to see Mr. Woden waiting patiently next to him, ready to untie the boat. Taking a deep breath, Sirius clambers aboard and Mr. Woden unwinds the rope from the cleat hitch, tossing the tail end onto the boat.

“Bon voyage!” says Mr. Woden with a big smile, waving goodbye.

Sirius waves back, and then settles into the boat for the next leg of his journey as he floats away downstream.

The boat ride is similar to the elevator trip in that he’s on his own and deprived of the majority of his senses. This time though, while it’s still not quite _something_ , it’s a little bit more than _nothing_ , and he is cognizant of both the dark and the damp.

Rummaging around in the debris littering the bottom of the boat, he comes up with an old glass bottle, and he conjures a bluebell flame inside of it to light his way and ward off the chill in the air, grateful that at least this small bit of magic seems to work here. Time passes, and again, he has no idea how long he spends in transit. Despite the dank atmosphere however, Sirius finds that he prefers this to the elevator, because at least here there is the soothing soundtrack of running water and gentle lull of the boat’s movement in the river.

After a time, he notices that the darkness has gradually abated somewhat. It is still quite gloomy, but he is able to see that the cavern has widened to the point where the walls seem to have disappeared entirely, though the river still has the oppressive feeling of being underground. He watches the terrain change as he slowly passes by, and it eventually comes to his attention that something is swimming along in the water next to the boat.

His mystery companion seems to realize that it’s been noticed, and a melodic voice rings out, “Always have to be the exception to the rule, don’t you, Sirius Black?”

He squints in the direction of the sound. She is female, of that much he is certain, though perhaps not a woman, exactly. It’s hard to tell in the dim lighting, but her skin seems to have an iridescent green tinge. So no, not human, but she doesn’t appear to be a mermaid either, which leaves Sirius at a loss as to what precisely she is.

Not that it really even matters at this point. This whole experience has just been so weird that he’s not even bothering to question it. “I never was one for rules,” he responds.

The woman in the river seems to find this answer amusing. “No, evidently not. Case in point,” she lifts a webbed hand out of the water, gracefully flicking it in his direction, “Here you are, floating down my river in a boat, not a care in the world. Lots of people arrive, but very few get to leave. See? The exception.” She seems sort of disappointed by this.

“It’s only temporary, if that makes you feel any better. Mr. Woden said I was early, and sent me on my way, but I’ll be back again at some point.”

She perks up at this. “Good, because you can hardly get the full experience without leaving the boat. Plus, there are some folks here waiting for you.” She glances over his shoulder as if acknowledging the presence of people standing there on the riverbank.

Sirius immediately wrenches his body around to see what she’s talking about, but he is only able to discern a few vague, shadowy figures in the distance.

“But if you’re just passing through…” she shrugs, as if to say, ‘ _Oh well, too bad_.’

He has a pretty good idea as to who those figures are, and if his guess is correct, then so is the river woman; it _is_ too bad. He misses James and Lily with a longing that gnaws at his soul, and he wishes he could see them again, even just for a minute, so that he can apologize for letting them down. As for the third figure, though he’s not positive, he suspects it to be Regulus, and he wishes he could apologize to his little brother for letting him down too.

The river woman’s face suddenly softens. She folds her arms on the edge of the boat and rests her chin on them as she says, “They know, Sirius Black. They forgive you, and they love you. All that’s left now is for you to forgive yourself.” She gives him a significant look, holding his gaze for a long moment, and then she releases her grip on the side of the boat and slips back down into the water, disappearing in its inky depths.

Alone again, he settles back into the boat and ponders her words. Admitting his shortcomings has been difficult enough, and he’s not sure if he’s able to take that final step toward redemption by forgiving himself for everything. The problem is that he’s done so much wrong that he doesn’t know if he deserves forgiveness. Shouldn’t he have to pay penance for his transgressions? Certainly forgiveness is something that must be earned the hard way.

‘ _Forgiveness is a gift_.’

He starts with a jerk that threatens to tip his boat. For a split second, he could have sworn that the voice was real and in the boat with him, but after shining his bluebell light around in the murkiness, he is secure in the knowledge that he is still alone. Though he is now sure that the voice was only in his mind, he doesn’t doubt the authenticity of it for a moment.

It had sounded like Lily’s voice.

And she was right, of course.

There was no hope for any of the rest of it without forgiveness. Any attempt he could make at love, or remorse, or looking after Harry would be an exercise in futility if he first did not forgive himself and move on. Without forgiveness, none of this would mean anything, because he would _still_ be stuck in the past.

If Lily, James, and Regulus could all forgive him, then surely he can forgive himself. He decides to try.

A warm, dry breeze then wafts over him, and suddenly his field of vision is filled with a blindingly bright light. He closes his eyes, and he feels as if he has fallen asleep while sunbathing. He can hear distant voices trying to gain his attention, and he smiles.

He is going home.

xXx


End file.
